I had just turned sixteen in December of 2011. One of the *hottest* boys in school texted me. I was flabbergasted and immediately told my best friend. She was cautious. He’s (what the kids call it these days) a f***boy she insisted. All I knew about him was that he ran cross-country and had dated a girl named Ashley for a while. He was a Senior and I was a Sophomore in high school. As soon as we started talking the rest was history and I didn’t care what anyone else had to say. He asked me to prom and we spent what seemed like every waking moment together in the Summer. Many of our nights were spend eating Chinese food, drinking sugar and cream with a little coffee, and watching movies (or not watching). I was in love – completely head over heels in love. We talked about the future – our dream home, our kids names. Now I know it sounds like that young love that everyone says isn’t real – but I’m telling you THIS was real and I know that more now than I ever did then. However, like all couples, we had our fights. First, I was very insecure about being with this gorgeous older guy. He was tall and extremely slender, with long eyelashes and big amber eyes. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, taking some traits from his Mexican mother. It seemed that whenever I looked at him or went out in public together, I wondered how he could stay with an average girl like me. He could have whoever he wanted and I always feared it was just a matter of time before he left. We also fought about religion. He had been raised agnostic, borderline athiest by his father. I was raised very Catholic and had just been confirmed into the church. I questioned and pushed him about faith, trying to understand, but he thought I was judging him.
The worst day was the day he left for college. A community college 30 minutes away. I started my Junior year with bouts of constant crying. It didn’t help I could tell our relationship was changing. Then it all changed September 4th, 2012. He had gone to church with me, something he didn’t particularly enjoy doing. When we got into my truck, he broke my heart. He told me that we couldn’t be together because of our religious differences. He didn’t want to raise his children like that. To me, it made no sense and I begged him to stay. My devastation left me on the parking lot ground. I couldn’t believe it when he got in his car and drove away as I laid there wishing to jump into traffic. My heart physically hurt and it shattered me to my core. I tried for weeks to contact him, but he refused to respond. I just couldn’t understand how our religious differences could provide such a barrier. I begged him to give me another reason – a “real” reason. Was college too much? Did he just want to be single? Had he met someone else? Nothing made sense and my heart broke deeper every day. I offered to give up religion for him. And I did even though that didn’t work. And so my depression began. I started hurting myself just to feel something. I broke into a million pieces and never quite found a way to get put back together. I was gone and so was he. But this wouldn’t be the last time I broke. And it wasn’t the last time for *us*.